My Mummy's DeadI stand in the front room of my mum’s house and look at the detritus and remnants of a life less lived. There is a picture of John Kennedy - he is just coming out of Edensor church on the Chatsworth estate – I think it’s taken around 1962. He is visiting his sisters grave. My mum spent a day waiting to meet him. She told me that she shook his hand as he came out of church.
There is another picture taken in the late 1920’s – a grainy black and white photo of my mum playing in a ditch in a field somewhere near Belmont with her brothers and sisters. It looks like something from another world, like something from Grapes of Wrath or Of Mice and Men – proper John Steinbeck. Irish parents, English husband and a son. She spend the past 70 years living here, living another life. Leaving behind everything she knew of to be with the man she loved. That’s quite something I reckon. Although, I think on that afternoon at Edensor in 1962 she would’ve willingly married John Kennedy.
So far removed from the person I sat with yesterday – I refuse to believe that the young beautiful girl in the photo could end up looking like the corpse I see in front of me, the jaw slack and mouth open like a devils sick of sin, the skin grey and waxy and the flesh hanging limply from the arms. Death is cruel. Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to suck the marrow from life, to skid, to crash, to take chances to be the person of your dreams. Is that too much to ask.
My mind is fucked up and I need to get out of my head, I need to forget everything I have seen over the past few days and I need to have sex. To fuck is a key and strong human instinct. The desire to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace. And so with this theory still fresh in my mind I decide to do something different. I pick up the phone and dial Spangles massage parlour on Derby Road in Nottingham. They have 2 girls working today – Mckenzie and Chloe. And as I drive down Derby Road, it reminds me of what a complete shithole this part of Nottingham is – I spent time living here, fucking horrible it is.
The receptionist meets me at the bottom of the stairs and we walk up the stairs and low and behold this place hasn’t changed since the last time I was here which must’ve been the early 1990’s.
Chloe is sat on the sofa applying some makeup and she looks like a stunner – all goth dark hair and makeup and a stern look about her. And then McKenzie walks out and she looks equally fucking stunning, looks like she goes to the gym actually and I think to myself that I would not mind getting my tongue up her shitter.
So I choose McKenzie and she shows me into the massage room. And I am laughing to myself as this is a nice trip back in time when brothels had massage tables, and they would ask you whether you wanted talc or oil and the room is no bigger than my downstairs toilet but it is fit for purpose.
And I am lying face down on that little piece of bed roll they always put down on the bed or table which is eventually used to clean up the spunk and piss. And McKenzie walks in and she looks all fucking tanned and confident and already I have had 2 massive sniffs of poppers and she is getting into the spirit of things by encouraging me to raise my arse up of the bench and she is pulling at my cock and balls from behind and teasing my balls, biting my cock and licking the shaft and I am thinking this is all heading in the right direction my friend.
And this goes on for a while and I am getting quite worked up and she is encouraging me to get fucked up on poppers and the room is caving in and I can’t focus my vision, but the next thing she is on the couch and I am on the floor and her arse is up in the air and I’m licking it out and getting my tongue right in there with proper diligence and enthusiasm and she is loving it off course and calling me a dirty, pathetic little cunt and telling me that she feels sorry for my poor wife being stuck with a loser like me. And I am moving with equal enthusiasm from her arse hole to her cunt. And she is encouraging this type of behaviour.
And at this point I think I need both girls in at the same time, so I ask her if Chloe would like to join us and McKenzie is straight out into reception and before I know it Chloe has come into the room and McKenzie is bringing her up to speed and telling her what a fucked up poppers addict I am and Chloe is nodding enthusiastically and now they are both taking it in turns to feed me poppers whilst the other is pulling my cock backwards as I am on all fours and then I am kneeling up and McKenzie is spitting into my mouth and licking my lips with her tongue as Chloe is sucking and biting on my cock.
And my mind is proper fucked at this stage and I can barely see as I cannot focus any longer but Chloe is doing a great job on my cock and balls. And then they swap places and McKenzie is then on my cock and she is taking all of my cock in her mouth whilst Chloe is feeding me more poppers and counting down from 10 and I am close to passing out but it feels amazing and Chloe is then spitting into my mouth and she is dribbling saliva everywhere and it is dribbling down her chin onto the cock which McKenzie is sucking and then finally then are both sucking on my cock and balls at the same time and I am now taking the largest amounts of poppers and I just want to fucking well forget everything I have had to endure over the past few weeks and I look down and I have 2 young, hot, girls sucking on my cock and I come with great enthusiasm and noise. I then I collapse.
And I’m out in the reception and they won’t let me leave until I’ve sat down and I start to look ok again. And the receptionist is genuinely a nice person and I remember her from the Shepshed days when she used to reception there. And we have a chat and I feel ok and I make it down the stairs with my unsteady legs just about supporting me. And I have a brief chat with McKenzie who is outside having a fag – and she tells me about how she was at Sandy’s until recently.
Once I’m ok, I get in the car and start the journey back home. I look in the mirror and I look like a corpse. And as I drive back I think about death and how I must grieve – you cannot die of grief, though it feels as if you can. A heart does not actually break, though sometimes your chest aches as if it is breaking. Grief dims with time. It is the way of things. There comes a day when you smile again, and you feel like a traitor maybe. How dare I feel happy ? How dare I be glad in a world where my mother is no more. And then you cry fresh tears, because you do not miss her as much as you once did, and giving up your grief is another kind of death isn’t it ?
And as I drive back home, I put on Mother by John Lennon.
Gra chailleann tu mathair
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